


Dearest Friend (Blakefield)

by GoingOverJordan



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Blakefield, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26975086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoingOverJordan/pseuds/GoingOverJordan
Summary: "He swallowed hard when he saw the farmhouse on the horizon. Out of all the horrible, unspeakable things he's gone through, returning to this place required the most strength. His gaze wandered around the abandoned garden. "He was right.", he thought. "The cherry trees have grown."
Relationships: Tom Blake & William Schofield, Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Dearest Friend (Blakefield)

William Schofield could still see the smoke of the burning trench behind him even though he was miles away from it. The sky that used to be blue like the sea only a few hours ago was now full of ashes, and the sunlight that fought its way through the black clouds seemed to be as red as the fire itself. The tall British soldier wished he could say that the German attack surprised him, but that would've been a lie. He knew that the Germans wouldn't let them go that easily. 

"Bastards," Will mumbled. "Bastards. All of them!" 

The winter took all their leftover power, and now the only place where they could feel at least slightly safe was almost completely destroyed. A sea of fire. A sea of wounded soldiers screaming in pain. William hated the sound. He felt almost euphoric when he was chosen to pick up food packages from the east side of France. Even though he had to go alone. There was no man healthy enough to even crawl out of the trench. 

Will shook his head in a mix of disbelief and sadness and clung to his rifle even more than before. "Those bastards know that they have lost and now they can't say goodbye," he mumbled to himself. 

The war was almost over, yet the British soldier didn't feel happy. He felt nothing. How could this have gone so far? He remembered the excitement when people began enlisting in the military. "If you don't, what stories will you be able to tell your kids?", that's what people thought. But now? This wasn't a war. This was a massacre. His house and wife still felt years away and he wasn't sure if the thought of an "acceptable meal" made him feel good or just incredibly sick. Maybe a little bit of both. He remembered the countless drafts of letters he tried to write for his family, in case he wouldn't return. The mud under his feet sank in under his weight. The snow had melted and washed the blood of fallen soldiers away. 

"One day," Will thought while trying to free his leg from a much deeper mud hole, "One day even the smell might be washed away." 

Oh, that horrible smell of blood, death and war. It was burned into Will's nose and he was sure - No. He knew that the smell would follow him for the rest of his life. 

The ground became more stable and soon Will had left No Man's Land behind him. He took a quick breath. He wasn't out of the war zone, of course not, but here the smell of death at least wasn't strong enough to make him want to throw up. 

William knew exactly where he was. It wasn't the first time that he walked this exact same way. 

He swallowed hard when he saw the farmhouse on the horizon. Out of all the horrible, unspeakable things he's gone through, returning to this place required the most strength. His gaze wandered around the abandoned garden. "He was right.", he thought. "The cherry trees have grown." 

The garden, almost like an oasis in the middle of a desert of death, seemed to have been growing non stop since last year. Weeds, flowers and grass spread all around the destroyed farmhouse. And, most importantly, the cherry trees. Under normal circumstances, he would have found this view to be beautiful, but when he looked at the bright, red cherries, he felt his heart sting. "Blake would have loved to see this..." 

Blake... 

Suddenly, his knees felt weak. Images began flashing through his head, memories that he tried so hard to repress. He felt the hot, crimson blood on his hands again as he was kneeling next to his fallen friend.  
"Am I dying?"  
William hastily turned around, expecting to see Thomas Blake lying on the ground, fighting for his life. But nobody was there. He was alone. Tears began streaming down his face, as he once again realized that his friend was truly gone. "You idiot!", he cried as his knees finally gave in, the weight of his grief pulling him to the ground. "I told you we should've killed that bastard of a German! Why didn't you just listen to me?!... Why didn't I-..." His voice broke, almost vanishing as he whispered: "I should have done more." 

William didn't want to do anything anymore. There was no point in getting up, no point in going back. All he longed for was to be able to embrace his friend again, to see his face, to hear his voice. For a brief second, he wished that it would have been him that died in his place. Anger, sadness and regret boiled inside of him, with the terrible knowledge that there was no way to change the past.

Still, despite his pain, despite his mind torturing with thoughts of guilt, he couldn't give up. "Blake wouldn't have wanted this.", he thought while he got back up again, his entire body still wanting to do otherwise.  
He won't give up. He will return to the battlefield and fight. Fight for his family, his country, and for Blake! But before that...

William went to one of the cherry trees and picked one of the cherries. When he returns home, William promised to himself, he would plant this in his garden.

"For you, my dearest friend."


End file.
